


sick of social graces

by nilchance



Series: ain't this the life [13]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Face-Fucking, Fellcest - Freeform, M/M, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), cross-universe bullshit shenanigans, kustard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Red makes an offer and a mistake.





	sick of social graces

Another day, another round of waiting for Sans in the parking lot of a shitty little call center. 

Red sits on the hood of a stranger’s car, watching the door. A few humans trickle out here and there, giving him the side-eye, probably thinking about calling the cops. Red grins at the ones who stare too long and they look away. Getting most humans to turn throat is hilariously easy.

Sans usually makes Red wait a while. He says it’s because he gets stuck on a call but Red’s pretty sure it’s because Sans just gets his kicks out of annoying Red. Red can respect that, seeing as the feeling is mutual. But Sans is fast this time around, wandering out the door with his hands shoved in his pockets, already scanning the parking lot. 

Red would call the look in his eyes determined if either of them were the determined type. It’s the same look Sans had when he decided to pull his ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ stunt. Red has enough time to think _not this bullshit again_ when Sans is up in his space, dragging him off the hood of the car by the front of his jacket, and kissing him. Red can taste the desperation in it.

Welp. Okay. He’s just pent up. Lucky for him, here’s Red waiting to be cruelly used. As down as he would be for dry-humping Sans in the parking lot on somebody else’s car, Sans would probably get bitchy about it when he got fired. So he takes a moment to feel up Sans’s iliac crests through his shorts and drags him through a shortcut.

They're barely in Red’s room before Sans is on his knees, pulling Red's shorts off his hips. Red hasn't even formed anything yet, just a haze of magic, but Sans puts his mouth right on bare bone. For all that he usually runs a little cold, his tongue is hot like it's leaving scorch marks behind.

Red grabs onto Sans's shoulder just to keep his balance. "Dude, what the fuck are you--" Sans's tongue curls against Red's pubic symphysis and he hisses. "Shit, you need it that bad, huh?"

He expects Sans to pull back and says something bitchy because heaven fucking forbid Red imply that he could ever actually need something. That's what they do. It's their thing. Sans doesn't even pause, just wraps his fingers around Red's femur to steady himself. When Red looks down at him, his eyes are closed, a little crease between his brows. 

Yeah, okay. This is a thing. 

Red grabs Sans by the back of the neck and pulls him away. Sans gives him a look that would flay Red's skin off if he had any or was impressed by Sans's bullshit. Good thing neither of those things apply. Wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, Sans demands, "What?"

"You in heat or something?" Red asks.

Sans blinks, thrown off his dire blowjob mission. "No. Does that actually happen where you're from?"

Red snorts. "Yeah, once in a while."

"What the fuck. That's horrifying," Sans says, because Red has a type and that type is apparently control freaks who wants to punch biology in the face.

"It has its upsides," Red says. "What's with you?"

"... heh." Sans grins at him, lopsided and a little mean. "What, do you want to talk about our feelings? Hold hands? Maybe sing some Kumbaya? Is that the price of admission to your pants these days?"

"Holy shit, no. Fuck your feelings," Red says. "Besides, you've got one of those wristbands. The ones that let you ride the tilt-o-whirl all day."

"So you're comparing yourself to the ride run by unqualified teenagers that's only good for giving people whiplash," Sans says. "Seems legit."

Red bristles. "Fuck you, the tilt-o-whirl is awesome."

"Okay," Sans says, in a deeply aggravating tone that says he's just humoring the crazy person. "Can I suck your dick or not? Because I can find somebody else."

Oh. So it's like that, is it.

Red lets go of him, watching Sans's eyelights shrink as he realizes Red could just leave him right here on his knees, then backs up a couple steps so he can have his back against the wall. He leans there, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. "Hey, I might as well be comfortable, right? C’mere."

Sans gives him a long, calculating look, and then gets up and walks the couple feet closer. Shame. Red was kinda hoping he'd crawl. Once Sans is back on his knees, Red makes something for him to suck. 

Sans's eyelights flare, red reflected in the darkness of his sockets. He flicks a look at Red. "Was that so hard? Did you have to be a dick about it?"

"Don't get a-head of yourself." When Sans snickers, Red settles his hand back on the back of Sans's neck, pulling him closer to his dick. Sans doesn’t resist, which pretty much confirms Red’s suspicions. Good to know he’s not losing his touch. "I wanna fuck your mouth."

Sans relaxes under Red’s hand, but you couldn't tell by his expression. "You saying I can't do my job without you steering?"

"Didn't know it was your job," Red says.

Sans winces, thinking twice about his phrasing about five seconds too late, but doesn't apologize. Red wouldn't want him to. Mostly he’s wondering (again) what the hell kind of sex Sans has been having. "Okay, I'm more of a dedicated hobbyist."

"Very dedicated. I know you could suck the chrome off a bumper, babe--"

"You sweet talker."

"-- but that's not what I want. How about you let me do all the work?"

Sometimes, when Red's having a shitty time of it, when he gets sick of the backwash of his own depressive bullshit, all he wants is to get out of his own head. Sex, weed, pain, whatever. Sans isn't that different, as much as he likes to say otherwise, and there's a reason he came to Red and started baiting him instead of finding somebody else. Somebody who’ll let him grab the steering wheel. Somebody who won’t get him off. He knows it’s Red’s turn.

Sans glances away like that'll hide the naked want on his face, then back when he’s got it under wraps again. “Sure. I mean, how could I turn down not having to do anything?”

“That’s fucking hilarious coming from you,” Red says. He pets Sans's spine with his thumb just to feel him shiver. "You get real fighty about me trying to show you a good time.”

“Whine about it on your blog.” Sans says. “Are we doing this or not?”

“I ain’t whining,” Red says. He takes Sans by the chin, pressing his thumb to the corner of Sans’s mouth, watching Sans think about biting him. “I like it when you fight. Gets me hot. Open your mouth."

“Finally,” Sans mutters, bracing himself with one hand on the wall. He opens his mouth, his tongue a faint glow behind his teeth. There’s no patience in him tonight. When Red eases into his mouth, Sans closes his eyes. Sans's mouth is as sweet as Sans isn't. His tongue presses against the underside of Red's dick, giving him something to rub against. That's real considerate of him.

Red thrusts once, experimentally, and Sans's fingers scrape restlessly at the wall. Red moves his hand to cradle the back of Sans's head, holding him in place for the next easy thrust. The fourth time he does it, taking his time, enjoying the slow drag of Sans's tongue, Sans makes a little noise in his throat. Red pauses, watching his face, and Sans tugs at his hip, trying to get him moving again.

Ha. He knew it. "Nuh-uh, buddy. Relax. I’ve got this. Hey, how’s about you put your hands on the wall instead?”

Sans opens his eyes to give him an _are you fucking kidding me with this_ look. Red wipes it off with another grind of his hips into Sans's mouth, harder this time. Sans's eyes go hazy in the split second before they slam shut, like maybe Red won't notice. When Red stops again, just letting his cock rest in Sans’s mouth, Sans hesitates for a long, long moment. Then he exhales impatiently, leans closer and presses both hands flat to the wall. He cracks one eye open, silently daring Red to say one goddamn thing about it when Sans is in a position to bite his dick off. 

Of course that means Red has to tell him, just on the edge of mockery, “There you go.” He pushes into Sans’s mouth again, starting up a rhythm that’s slow and steady. Sans closes his eyes, his expression all resentment and longing twisted up. That’s almost as good as the wet, generous heat of his mouth. Red groans low in his throat. “Did I ever tell you got a great mouth?”

Sans huffs, an irritable noise that’s as close to bitching about Red’s dirty talk as he can get with his mouth full, but stays pliant and willing under his hand. His hands stay on the wall. Red takes a while to just enjoy it, the languid heat, Sans’s clever tongue. He winds himself up before he finally uses his grip on Sans’s spine to pull him even closer, close enough that his cock bumps gently against the entrance to Sans’s throat. There’s no pressure behind it, but he feels it when Sans swallows. He hears the little subvocal noise Sans makes when he stops.

“That okay?” Red asks, low. The flutter of Sans’s throat against the head of his dick is messing him up, but he can get them both there without it. He’s maybe pushing his luck, but hell, when isn’t he?

Sans meets his eyes for a second, and the look in them makes Red’s dick twitch in Sans’s mouth. Then, deliberately, Sans shifts his weight on his knees and presses himself forward, maddeningly slow pressure around Red’s cock.

“Yeah?” Red asks, grinning. He grinds his hips, sinking deeper into Sans’s throat. Sans chokes, but he’s fighting Red’s grip to get closer. Red laughs, tight and a little wild. “Goddamn, you’re a fun ride.”

He expects Sans to shut his eyes again, hiding his reactions like Red can’t see them written all over his face, but Sans doesn’t. As Red starts to fuck his mouth slow, Sans holds his eyes even as his start to water. His eyelights are blown wide and soft. This whole eye contact thing makes it weirdly intimate but the look in Sans’s eyes is a demand, like he’s looking for something, like he’s trying to nail himself to this one moment in time.

Neither of them need to breathe. Red could just fuck Sans’s throat until he gets himself off. There’s no real reason to pull out a little, to give him a break, but Red does. Sans gasps wetly for air, the reflexive water in his eyes finally spilling over, and Red smears his thumb through the wet tracks left behind before thrusting back into Sans’s throat. Sans only jerkily tilts his head to give Red a better angle.

“Should’ve done this a long time ago,” Red says roughly. At the sound of his voice, Sans’s eyes flutter shut. His throat tightens convulsively around Red’s dick as he swallows. “I ain’t been treating you right.”

When Red slides one foot a little forward, the toe of his boot nudging gently between Sans’s open legs, Sans jerks against him. Sans swallows around him again, as deliberate as revenge, and keeps swallowing. The pleasure that Red’s been ignoring for the noble cause of fucking Sans up grabs hold of him and tightens down so hard his toes curl in his boots.

"Fuck, I'm close,” Red says. “Gonna come in your mouth. You want it?"

Sans shudders, pressing closer, a silent answer. His expression looks like he's in sweet pain, his breath coming in ragged huffs through his nasal aperture. The magic holding his bones together burns bright. The next time he tries to pretend he's untouchable, Red is gonna remember him like this.

Red murmurs, a little shake in his voice, "I dunno. Maybe I should do it on your face instead. Really mess you u--"

He's just talking shit, no intention of actually following through when he didn't clear it with Sans from the start. He's not expecting Sans to moan around his dick. That ragged little noise drags Red down. He comes groaning, grinding jerkily into Sans's mouth. He can feel Sans swallowing it down, the flex of his throat working, and he lingers for a few extra seconds there to really enjoy it. Then he pulls out, sudden enough that Sans's eyes snap open and Red gets a real good look at his unguarded expression. He’s breathing heavy, tears on his face, his tongue barely visible between his parted teeth, wet and tinted faintly red.

“Shit,” Red hisses, and drops to his knees, hauling Sans onto his lap to kiss him. It's viscerally satisfying to taste himself in Sans's mouth. Without breaking the kiss, he shucks Sans's shorts down and mostly out of the way. The noise Sans makes when he curls his fingers around his dick is surprisingly loud, like Sans forgot for a second that he doesn't have a cock in his mouth to muffle it. He pulls away to shove his face in Red's shoulder. His fingers grasp at the front of Red's hoodie, twisting it up in his grip. Red can feel him starting to shake already, he's so close. Red barely had to touch him.

It’s tempting to drag this out. He likes Sans like this, too strung out to overthink. Maybe with a little edging he could get Sans to ask for it real nice. Ideas for another time. He’s got a lot of those where fucking Sans is concerned. 

“Come on,” Red says, laying words out like a trail for Sans to follow him down. He rubs his thumb over the tip of Sans’s dick as he messily jerks him off with his own precome. Sans is tense against him, muffling noises into his shoulder, a taut wire ready to snap. “I wanna feel it.”

Sans’s next exhale is damn near a whine. When Red teases the slit with the tip of his thumb on the next stroke, Sans sucks in a sharp breath and comes hard, clutching at Red's jacket like it's the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Fuck yeah," Red murmurs. He keeps it up, slow and easy, dragging another muffled moan from Sans's throat, until Sans finally grabs his wrist. There's not much force behind his grip, but Red stops because he's a merciful god. "That was hot."

There’s a beat or two of Sans just trying to catch his breath before he says, his voice fucked out and scratchy, “Don’t get used to it.” Then he turns his head away and sneezes, which is damn polite of him, and scrubs irritably at his face with his sleeve. "Ugh. Did you skin a yeti for that jacket? The fur on your hood got up my nose."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have time to take it off because somebody ripped my pants off the second we got here like a goddamn animal," Red says. Sans glances at him sidelong, gauging whether he’s pissed, and Red smirks. "Hey, I ain't complaining."

A flicker of relief in Sans's expression. "Good to know." Then he unzips Red's hoodie, pushing it off his shoulders.

Wiping the jizz off on his shorts (Edge’ll bitch but it's laundry day tomorrow, it's fine), Red says, "It's a little late for that part."

"What, you’re not gonna insist on cuddling? I feel so used."

Says the guy who damn near came from Red fucking his mouth. "You're into that kinda thing."

One corner of Sans's mouth quirks ruefully. "Project a little harder. They can't see you from the Hubble."

"Yeah, yeah." The hoodie's off. Red's a helpful guy, so he peels off his shirt too and pitches it into the corner. The trash tornado tugs hopefully at it but can’t quite drag it into its vortex. "Better?"

"Yeah," Sans says distantly. He rests his cool hand on Red's ribcage, fingers spread. His eyes are fixed on Red's soul like he can't tear his eyes away.

All the times they've fucked, Sans has been careful not to really look at Red's soul. Very careful. He'd figured Sans was too squeamish, all that flinchy softer world sensitivity. Now that he knows about the whole soul thing, he thinks maybe not. Maybe it's the same thing that keeps Sans wearing two shirts like a chastity belt, all fucked up over one or two little cracks. Red understands shame.

Sans glances up at him, sees him watching, and immediately averts his eyes. For a second Red thinks he's gonna apologize like a dumbass and then he'll have to smack him, but instead Sans asks, "Does sex actually help?"

"Finally got around to a little light reading, huh?" When Sans just shrugs, Red says, "Yeah, it helps some. Good old injection of vitamin D. Is that why you were so het up to suck my dick?"

Sans snorts. "No, I actually like having sex with you. It’s unfortunate. The whole soul thing is just bonus fries."

"Aw," Red says. "You like me."

"That is absolutely not what I said."

"You liiiike me. That's sweet."

"I like your dick," Sans says. "I could take or leave the rest of you."

"I dunno. You seem to be a pretty big fan of my mouth too. And my pussy." Red wiggles his fingers in Sans’s face. "And my hand got you off like five minutes ago, so--"

"Statement retracted," Sans says, pushing Red’s hand away. "I like all those things. Such a shame they're attached to you."

Emotional cactus. Shit’s straight out of one of Alphys’s animes except with sadly fewer tentacles. And just like one of those animes, Red leans forward and shuts him up with a kiss. The inside of Sans's mouth still tastes like him. Sans's fingers dig into Red's ribs and he shifts closer like he's not already straddling Red's lap and as close as he can get.

Eventually Red pulls back to grin at him. "So you touched your soul yet?"

It catches Sans off guard. For a fraction of a second, his expression does something complicated, microexpressions shuffling through emotions like a handful of playing cards: fear anger shame shame _shame_ \--

\-- replaced by an easy grin. Sans says, "Didn't get that far."

Well, fuck. Red was expecting some embarrassment, maybe, because Sans fucks around but gets cagey about actually enjoying it. Something to needle him about. He wasn't expecting whatever that was.

"Really," Red says. He leans back to get a better look at Sans’s face. "How far are we talking here?"

Sans shrugs again, avoiding eye contact without even a flimsy excuse. Almost managing to sound casual but not quite, he asks, “Could I skip the whole soul thing and just fix it with sex?”

That's so stupid it's almost impressive. Which isn't all on Sans, these people are so ignorant about soul shit it's criminal, but what the fuck. 

"That's not how it works,” Red says. “If it was, my soul would look brand spanking new since I'm getting twice the sex you are. Did you actually read the fucking book or just look at the pictures?"

"Mine's not that bad," Sans says.

"Yeah, well, don't be an idiot and you can keep it that way,” Red says. "Fucking around ain't gonna solve the problem. Might keep the symptoms down, but it's like you broke a bone and you're popping painkillers instead of setting the damn thing."

"Must be serious business if you're breaking out the metaphors." Sans starts to climb off Red's lap and Red grabs hold of the front of his hoodie before he gets any ideas about bailing. Sans looks down at Red's hand and then back to his face, highly unimpressed. "Don't you fucking start. Your brother’s bad enough."

"Hey, you think I wanna be having this conversation?" Red demands. “It ain't my fault you're being a dumbass. Just follow the damn instructions. It doesn’t even hurt."

Sans's expression flickers for a second like a bad TV, his eyelights almost guttering. His grin slips. He slaps it back on so badly that Red doesn’t know why he even bothers. "Okay, but maybe the guy with a crack in his skull has a different definition of painful."

"Nope,” Red says. “Might be nice if pain tolerance worked like that, but it sucks just as much to get hurt now than it did when I got my first cracked bone. What the hell was that look for?"

"Like you never ask Edge to hurt you during sex," Sans says, ignoring the part he doesn’t want to deal with. Embarrassingly predictable.

All that fucking around and Sans still gets the vapors over the weirdest damn things. Red snickers. "That's a whole nother thing, sweetheart. Don't knock it til you try it."

"Sure," Sans says. "Always wanted to go out fucking somebody. It'd put a whole new spin on the phrase 'a little death'."

Not if it's somebody who knows what they're doing, but Red isn't gonna say it. He knows the trick where Sans derails conversations he doesn't want to have. It's his trick too.

So here Red is, stuck playing teacher without Sans even having the courtesy to wear a schoolgirl outfit. Figures. The book is helpful in a clinical way but the epidemic was so bad at that point they assumed everybody knew somebody who’d been through it, somebody to give practical first-hand advice instead of a bloodless list of instructions. Sans hasn’t got anybody else to tell him. He’s sure as hell not gonna listen to it from Edge.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Red says. “Doing it yourself is kinda relaxing. Like smoking up. Takes the edge off the world.”

“Relaxing,” Sans echoes, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah,” Red says. “Y’know, the smart thing to do would be to let somebody else do it the first time. Somebody who knows what they’re doing and can actually heal worth a damn. But you’re probably not gonna do the smart thing, are you?”

Sans is full of surprises tonight. He doesn’t immediately spit out some glib bullshit. He hesitates. Red knows that look in his eyes. He’s seen it in his own once or twice. Sans is shit-scared of this, genuinely fucking afraid. Too scared to do a good job of hiding it.

Red isn't the comforting type. He's never been good at the whole emotional support thing, which explains a lot about Edge. Plus the fact that he and Sans are screwing around doesn't mean that Sans being spooked is his goddamn problem. This is the kind of situation where Red can just sit back and enjoy the sweet, sweet schadenfreude of watching Sans's control freak tendencies bite him in the ass.

Only Red can't make himself take the cheap shot. It's too pathetic. It'd be like kicking a scraggly puppy with mange and three legs.

Damn it. Edge isn't the only one going soft.

Sans’s expression says he’s about two seconds away from slamming the door in Red’s face. Before he can, Red shrugs and says easily, “Hey, man, if you want me to pop your cherry, I’m down. It’s not a big deal.”

Which is kind of bullshit when he’s talking about literally holding Sans’s life in his hands and when the only other person whose soul he’s ever touched is his brother’s. He knows Sans because he knows himself, and neither of them like letting somebody into their heads. They prefer things the other way around.

But this whole thing where Sans is ignoring his slow-mo nervous breakdown is making Red maybe a little more sympathetic for Edge back in the day, before he Fell. It’s not that bad yet and it’s not gonna get that bad, but it’s a goddamn shitshow on its own and kinda hard to watch. It’s not like there are even any interesting explosions in this trainwreck, just Sans steering himself into whatever ditch he can find because apparently being self-destructive is coded in their DNA. Boring.

Besides, showing Sans a whole new world of getting off? Talk about a power trip.

Red eases his grip on Sans’s hoodie, pressing his hand flat on Sans’s chest over his soul. In a voice that’s all dirty promises, he says, “I can make it real good for you.”

“And with that cheesy bullshit, I’m out.” Sans pushes Red’s hand off and climbs off his lap, dragging his shorts back on. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Red makes a derisive noise. “I ain’t worried. It’s just biology.”

“So was the plague,” Sans says, looking around for his slippers.

“Yeah, and so’s fucking. Biology ain’t all bad.” Red watches Sans shove his slippers on. “First time I did it, I got off on it. Just saying.”

“You also fuck your brother, so you’re not exactly a great source on what’ll get me off.”

“I am what gets you off.” Red aims a kick at Sans’s ankle that he knows isn’t gonna connect. “Just suck it up and do it, you goddamn pussy.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Sans straightens and shoves his hands in his pockets. He glances at Red sidelong, not quite meeting his eyes. “But, uh, y’know. Thanks. For offering. I’ll… yeah. Thanks.”

Then he’s gone.

Red waits another couple seconds to be sure he’s not coming back before he says to the empty room, “Yeah, well. You’re welcome.”

***

Red fucks things up. It's what he always does. It’s a goddamn universal law. It was only a matter of time before he did it again.

He's under Edge, Edge's weight pressing him into the mattress, Edge's mouth at his throat, Edge's one hand tight around both of his wrists and the other between his legs. Edge rubs his clit in slow circles, gloved fingers just gliding in all the wetness slipping from Red's pussy. No big rush. It's not like Red is losing his mind here.

"C'mon, boss," Red whines. Sometimes, if he sounds desperate enough, Edge will give him what he wants. He grinds hopefully against his hand, trying for the billionth time to get Edge to stop fucking around and put his fingers in him already. He only gets an amused huff against his spine for his trouble just before Edge bites down, a sharp ache that goes straight to Red's cunt. Red groans, "Fuck, c'mon, please? Gimme your fingers, sweetheart, I--"

Edge goes still. It takes Red a few fevered seconds to realize what the fuck just came out of his mouth and then he freezes too.

Fuck, he knew it wasn't Sans, he knew it was Edge, he _knew_ \--

Edge lets him go. Red shoves against his shoulder, trying to get him off, but Edge is already moving off of him. Red gets off the bed, _scrambles_ off the bed, and makes the second big fucking mistake of the night by meeting Edge's eyes for a second.

Edge's expression is more open than it's been in years, too open, all that vulnerability showing like a wound for somebody to dig their fingers into. That looks says it all. Edge knows Red didn't mean Sans. Edge knows who Red meant in that one stupid fucking second.

Red drops his eyes to the floor. Finds his pants. Snatches them up and turns away, headed for the bedroom door. "I'm gonna shower."

Just before he gets to the door, Edge says, almost too quiet to hear, "What if we never go back?"

Red stops. His hands curl into fists.

That's it, then. He has to nip this shit in the bud. Edge needs a reminder. Fine. Red'll goddamn remind him. They'll have another vicious knockdown drag out fight that'll probably end in the two of them bruised and bloody and fucking in the ruins of the broken furniture. That's his job. The only one that matters. The only thing that matters.

How many times is he gonna have to say this? How many times is Edge gonna _make_ him say this?

It's all so fucking pointless.

Red says, his voice dead, "Get your shit together before you get us both killed."

When he walks away, Edge doesn't try to stop him.


End file.
